


The Sundering

by ariel2me



Series: House Martell [13]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 08:14:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12677952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariel2me/pseuds/ariel2me
Summary: The princess might even have considered Willas Tyrell, crippled leg and all, but her father refused to send her to Highgarden to meet him. She tried to go despite him, with Tyene’s help … but Prince Oberyn caught them at Vaith and brought them back. (A Feast for Crows)Oberyn did not ride alone in pursuit of Arianne and Tyene. He was accompanied by Daemon Sand, his former squire, Arianne's former lover and suitor.





	The Sundering

Oberyn did not ride alone in pursuit of Arianne and Tyene. He was accompanied by Daemon Sand, his former squire, and Arianne's former lover and suitor.

_Of all the knights in Dorne, why must my uncle choose this one to accompany him? He knows, even better than my father, my long and complicated history with Ser Daemon._

“My father brought him along precisely because of your history with Ser Daemon,” Tyene pointed out, when Arianne confided this thought to her later.

“He must be quite a man, this Tyrell heir, to induce you to go to such length for him, princess. When I asked for your hand in marriage and was refused by your father, you barely spoke any word of protest, let alone attempted to run away with me,” Daemon said, attempting to sound amused, but only succeeding in sounding bitter.

 _Princess._  Not Arianne. Not even Princess Arianne. She could not remember him ever calling her by her name again after that day, the day he finally mustered enough courage to face the Prince of Dorne to ask him for his daughter's hand in marriage.

“You never asked me to run away with you,” Arianne shot back. “You went away angry and bitter, barely saying a word to me, without giving me even a passing glance. And from that day forward, you acted towards me as if  _I_  was the one who had refused you, not my father. Tell me, Ser Daemon, was it really your heart that was injured that day, or merely your pride?”

“If you have to ask me that question, princess, then it is clear that you never knew me at all, as I have always suspected,” scoffed Daemon. “Did this Willas Tyrell ask you to run away to Highgarden to meet him? Are you certain he would welcome you with open arms to his home, knowing that you are there without your father's sanction and permission? How much do you  _truly_  know about this heir to Highgarden, this man of the Reach, to place so much trust and faith in him?”

Arianne flushed. She knew very little about Willas Tyrell, in truth, only the rare morsels she had glimpsed from his letters to her uncle Oberyn. But he was  _young_ , she knew that about him at least. Young, and heir to a powerful seat, which would be vital to her needs when her father finally made his move to steal Dorne from her, when he openly proclaimed to the world his preference for his son Quentyn to succeed him as the ruler of Dorne. Willas Tyrell was not some minor lordling who was also a doddering old fool with one foot in the grave; the type of men to whom her father had often tried to betroth Arianne, the type of men he apparently thought his daughter deserved.

“I was not running away,”Arianne protested. “To visit Highgarden is not running away. I meant to return to Sunspear after a short visit. Why my uncle saw the need to come for us, I truly do not understand.”

“Because your father told him to do so, of course,” Daemon said. “ _'Bring my daughter and her cousin home to Sunspear, before they could reach Highgarden and commit us to an irreversible path,'_  the Prince of Dorne commanded.”

Arianne frowned. It was as she suspected all along. Her father was trying his best to prevent her from marrying anyonewho could prove useful to her cause, and detrimental to Quentyn's. He most certainly did not want her to be allied by marriage to a strong and powerful house, one who could rise up to defend her claim to Dorne. Her father must have calculated that this match particularly would make robbing her of her birthright a very difficult affair, Arianne surmised. He wanted her  _exposed_ , alone and isolated without allies other than her cousins the Sand Snakes, without other defenders, while Quentyn was buttressed by the considerable strength, power and influence of the Yronwoods.

Even her uncle Oberyn could not truly be counted on to take  _her_  side. Arianne never doubted his love for her, but if it ever came down to a choice between his brother and his niece ...

 _You will not rob me so easily of my birthright, Father,_ she vowed, despite all the obstacles she could see lining up against her.  _I swear it by the sun and the spear. I swear it by Nymeria's star._

Try as she might though, she could not erase another thought from haunting her her mind.  _Father, why? What have I done wrong, that you would … that you could -_

The tears threatened to spill from her eyes.  _No!_  She would not shed any more tears for her father. Anger was better than tears. What had tears ever done for her, except to make her  _weak_? Anger was better than grief. For it was indeed  _grief_  she had been suffering from, she finally admitted to herself. Grief at her father's lost love for her, his lost faith in her. Grief at the sundering of the close tie and the special bond she used to share with her father.

Children must put away their toys when they grew older. Likewise, Arianne was determined to put away her tears and her grief, and to replace them with fury and conviction. Or to lock them inside her at least,  _deep_  inside her, where no other living soul could see through her defenses to spy on her tears and her grief, and would not even suspect that they were there.

Her father was not here with her. She could not turn to him to throw her fury in his face, so she turned to Daemon Sand instead, lashing out at him, passionately and vehemently, in a desperate effort to stop her tears from falling.

“Are you  _proud_  to do my father's bidding, Ser Daemon? Are you proud to be his tool and his puppet in his effort to bring his daughter to heel? Are you under the misguided impression that he might let you have my hand in marriage one day, should you serve him well enough, and if you conspire with him against me? You are a  _fool_ , ser. A fool and a naive dreamer. He will never let you have me. Never!”

Daemon greeted her pronouncement with complete silence. “Say something!” Arianne demanded. “Do you have  _nothing_ to say for yourself? Nothing to defend yourself with? Nothing to justify what you have done to me, how unfairly and woefully you have treated me?”

_Is silence your only weapon? The weapon you have always wielded against your foes, and now you are wielding it against your own daughter?_

“Go on,” Daemon finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yell at me. Scream at me. Shout at me. Call me all the names under the sun and the seven hells you could think of. Tear out my hair, or pound on my chest with your fists, if you wish. Let it out. Let it all out, princess, before we reach Sunspear, before you have to face your father.”

How did he know? How did he know it was her father … her father … her father -

“Arianne,” he called out her name, and she flew into his embrace, burying her face in his chest as she wept. And wept. And wept.


End file.
